A Thousand Lives
by kaydee falls
Summary: Krycek's last scene, his own POV. Viewers might think that he died without dignity. But he always had his reasons.


Thousand Lives

DISCLAIMER: if i owned them, i wouldn't haveta write this. krycek would've died with dignity on his own. as it is, i don't own the X-Files, and he didn't, so i must clean up the mess.  
SUMMARY: Post-ep for Krycek's last scene, from his own POV. He had his reasons.  
RATING: Uh....PG-13 for language.  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: this will eventually be the ending of a larger fanfic that deals with Krycek's life from to The begining was up a few months ago, The Road Less Traveled. I've made one or two references to it here, but not enough to confuse anybody. Once finals are over, I'll be able to connect the ends and write a middle. Eventually.  
  
A Thousand Lives  
by kaydee falls  
  
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Taking a deep breath, I shatter Mulder's car window. Inhale. Exhale. Grab the phone. Good boy. Do what you have to do. A voice on the cell crackles out Mulder's name, but I drop it and viciously crush it under my foot. Another breath. Just gotta finish this job, and get out. Gotta get out of here. Aim the gun. Be the terrorist he thinks you are.  
  
Get out of the car, I tell him, in a voice my own and yet not my own. How many times have I said things like this, without feeling? Cold. That coldness I used to feel, where did it go? I'm so hot now. Sweaty. Scared?  
  
Mulder leans over, climbing out of the driver's side. He refuses to meet my eyes. Good. Don't meet my eyes.  
  
Doesn't seem fair now, I hiss. Doesn't seem right. Coming down to this. I guess I always knew that this was how it would end, him or me. Me or him. But I never thought it would come so soon. I met this guy, what, seven years ago? Jesus. Seven years of his life, my life, wasted.  
  
What do you know about fair or right, Krycek? he spits out. You're a coward. Slowly, he walks around the car to face me. Fury glitters in his eyes.  
  
I could've killed you so many times, Mulder, I reply. You've got to know that. I'm the one that kept you alive. What little control I retained begins to crack into a thousand pieces. My voice wavers, belying my insecurity. Praying you'd win somehow. But he didn't. Damn you, Mulder, why didn't you ever figure anything out?! You stupid, selfish, son of a bitch!  
  
Then there really is no God, he says. Was that supposed to be funny? It's a little late for jokes, comrade.  
  
I know what he thinks of me. I've always known. Thing is, until now, I never cared. You think I'm bad. That I'm a killer, I throw at him. He nods, almost imperceptibly. Thick-skulled bastard. We wanted the same thing, brother. That's what you don't understand. I want him to understand. I want somebody, just one person, to understand how hard I've been fighting. Just on my own terms. Did I follow the boss? Oh, yes. And then I killed him.  
  
I wanted to stop them, he says angrily. All you wanted was to save your own ass.  
  
Of course I wanted to save my own ass! I want to scream at him. You noble, self-sacrificing idiot, what would happen if I died? Nothing! That solves nothing! If I didn't keep my sorry self alive, then who would be there to fight? They would have killed you a hundred times by now. You know why? Because they sent me to kill you a hundred times! And I never did! What if I hadn't been around, huh? They would've sent some witless goon who would have pulled the plug on you good! But I keep all this inside.  
  
No. I tried to stop them. Tried to kill...Scully's baby to stop them. All right, that may have been an error in judgment, but I have to stand by the picture as I saw it. It's too late. The tragedy's that you -- you wouldn't let it go. That's why I have to do this. Cause you know how deep it goes. Right into the FBI. I'm babbling now, and maybe a part of me even realizes it. How I can only be confusing him now. I'm throwing together so many pieces of the jigsaw puzzle, so haphazardly, because I can't tell him why I have to kill him. I guess I am a coward. If I told him, he might fight back.  
  
You want to kill me, Alex, kill me. Like you killed my father. Just don't insult me trying to make me understand. You and your father are slightly different cases, Fox. I killed him because he knew too much -- well, and because I still did Old Smokey's bidding back then. But you -- I'm killing you because you might find out. Because you are the only one who can get to the truth. Because if I don't, you might learn what I know. And you would publicize it. Fool, stupid fool, you just can't comprehend how many lives that would cost. A thousand lives.  
  
I try to pull the trigger, but suddenly, I can't. Dammit, I'm so hot. So fucking hot. And I just can't do this. This is it. We've reached the point of no return, Mulder and I. One of us is going to die. But suddenly, my reasoning doesn't seem to cut it. How can I shoot this man down, the only man who cares more about the cause than his own skin? And what if he's matured since his abduction? Maybe he would know what to do with my information, now. Maybe it would be safer in his hands than in mine. Because I sure as hell don't know what to do with it except keep it quiet. I've given him pieces, he wants the whole. Fuck, he can't handle the whole! And neither can I!  
  
I hear a gunshot, loudly, suddenly, and my right arm is on fire. Oh damn, that hurts. I don't even realize that I've fallen to the floor, almost whimpering with the pain. Christ it hurts. I have bad luck with arms.  
  
Looking up, I see Skinner standing there, his face a blank mask. Oh, crap. Payback time for the palm pilot, I guess. Dammit, I knew I shouldn't have gotten that thing repaired, but I needed to control Skinner, and it was my only advantage over him. Some advantage it is now. I can't even remember where I last left it.  
  
Pulling myself up, I reach for the gun, but there is another gunshot, another blast of pain. I scream, I think; and fall down again. Okay, this is getting humiliating. My right arm is now completely useless, and somehow I don't think I can aim and fire a gun with my prosthetic hand. Slowly, grimacing to keep back the pain, I shove my gun at Skinner.  
  
And suddenly, the heat that weighs me down dissipates. I catch my breath. The fire in my arm is still there, but I don't notice it as much. It occurs to me that I might very well be going to Hell, shortly. If it exists. That fire and brimstone that scared me so much once -- well. I wonder if I really would deserve it. I might. The body count I've tallied up seems to suggest that I might. But if that's the only criteria, then I'll be seeing a number of good people there. Mulder and Scully, certainly. So there must be another means of determination. I don't care.  
  
I want to die. The thought is a revelation to me. I want to die. Considering it, I'm surprised it never came to me before. If I live, Mulder will get the information out of me, all of it. I reached my breaking point today. I don't want this responsibility any more. But if Mulder hears it all, I have to assume the worst, that he will tell it to the world. And that can't happen. It would cost more lives than I've ever taken, myself. More innocents. I never killed an innocent. If I'd pulled that trigger today, Mulder would have been my first. I'm glad I didn't. Maybe that's God's criteria, not how many bodies, but how many innocents. I think Mulder just saved me, even if he doesn't realize it. But if I live now, I'll only condemn myself.  
  
Judgment Day. It's going to take more bullets than you can ever fire to win this game, I whisper to Skinner. But one bullet, and I can give you a thousand lives. My mind is beginning to wander, unable to evade the pain forever. Shoot me. One bullet to take my life, and my information will die with me. A thousand innocents will be able to continue their lives in ignorance. Ignorance is bliss. Kill me. I look up at Mulder. In my haze, I think that it's him, that he's the one with the gun. That would be fitting, after all. Not Skinner. Mulder. I want Mulder to kill me. We were the brothers, the Cain and Abel, the two with the same desires but who traveled such different paths. Him, he took the high road, the noble road. I took the road less traveled. Kill me, Mulder.  
  
Shoot, Mulder, I whisper. Shoot me. Belatedly, I realize how that must sound to the two men looming over me, but I don't care. Subconsciously, Mulder understands. He understands that I want him to kill me.  
  
I close my eyes, and it comes. Thank God.  
  
Somewhere out there, scattered throughout the wide world, a thousand lives go on.  
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like it? hate it? don't understand it? that's okay -- review it anyway! it's been a while since i delved into xf fanfic, so i'm a little rusty, and constructive criticism (or praise) is manna.  
  
kaydee falls


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